


A New Friend or Foe

by Emachinescat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Order of the Phoenix, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-14
Updated: 2007-06-12
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica is a new student at Hogwarts. A shroud of mystery surrounds her. But does she have anything to do with a secret past of Voldemort's? If so, how is it that Harry is falling for her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Layla

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own "Harry Potter" but Erica and Twitty-Twitch are my and my best friend's creations. :)
> 
> Standard old-story disclaimer: I wrote this in 2005-2007, so my writing has improved since then, although I still think it's a pretty good little story. :)
> 
> This story takes place after the fifth book. I could not have written this story without the inspiration from my best friend and my Harry Potter scenes we make up. The characters Erica and Twitty-Twitch came out of our scenes and I wrote this story after what we made up in our Harry Potter world. I have yet to decide if there will be a sequel, though I leave it open for one, as you'll see at the end.
> 
> Don't forget to comment/Kudos if you enjoy! :)

The floor creaked as he took a step.  _Creak._  He turned on his heel and took another.  _Creak._  He paused in his pacing, frowned, and looked at the picture hanging on the wall.

It was a moving portrait, as all are in the wizarding world, but this was exceptionally beautiful. A young girl, not quite sixteen, stood in the midst of the frame, smiling and waving. Grimacing, he took the picture and tore it off the wall. Why should he have to look at it? That girl had nothing to do with him anymore...she was a traitor, and she had been gone for a long time now.

"Lord Voldemort doesn't need anyone," he muttered to himself. But he remembered a time, long, long ago, when he had felt love for however, was something that would never happen again. From his experience, he realized that it was better not to trust anyone...

The girl was Layla Cunningham. Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, as he had been called back then, had met her while visiting France during the Triwizard Tournament. He had seen her beauty, and fallen instantly in love. But of this he told no one. He had never had any friends, and had always been on his own. He wanted things to stay that way...but he could not resist this girl's charm.

They secretly wrote to each other and met occasionally-in private. Finally, he proposed to her. Since he was from a poor family, and she from a rich one, they knew her family would never agree. But they were in love, and eloped-secretly. "No one shall ever know of this," they vowed.

A year later, their lives as a married couple were still a secret-he was nineteen and she eighteen. They had used several charms to protect their secret. But now a new challenge had come: raising their new baby daughter, Erica. How could they raise her in secret?

Tom, who had never been good with children, left Layla to take care of the child, while he stayed up late at night, visiting pubs and gradually getting more into the dark arts than he had ever been. But he told none of this to Layla: she found out the hard way.

She had come to visit Lily and James the night they were killed. When she arrived at their house, the door had been blown open...and the Potters: both dead. She fled for home, waiting in silence and grief with her little daughter, waiting for her husband to return...but he never did.


	2. The Funeral

One tear silently rolled down her cheek. She watched helplessly as the coffin lid was nailed into place, and her mother lowered into the wished she knew what had caused her mother's death. All she knew was that at the beginning of the year, her mother had received a whom she knew not. It upset her dear mother so much that she fell dreadfully ill. Now she was dead, and there was no one left for her daughter. She was all alone. "No," she whispered, barely audible. "No, Mom! I have no one else!"

She felt a hand on her back and saw an old man with white and gray hair, large nose, and thick glasses behind her. He had on a solid black suit for the funeral, and wore a sorrowful expression. "I am sorry, Erica. But there is nothing we can do now. We knew this day was coming...I'm sorry."

It was old Mr. Peloponia, who had been like a grandfather to Erica Riddle since she could remember. "I know, Sir, but I...I have no one else." The girl broke into sobs and asked, "Where will I live? Who with? You? Can I, please?"

The man looked at the distressed girl, pity showing in his tired gray eyes, and said, "I am sorry, Erica, but no. Your mother said that when she died, you were to be sent to your Aunt Mildred's house in London."

"Aunt Mildred? But-I hardly know her. I can't go live with her."

"Ah, but you must. She said...she said that she would be glad to have you if anything...er...happened to your mother."

Tears filled Erica's eyes again, and she choked back sobs. "I'm sorry, dear. Your mother...she was a great...person. She did many things for people, and was very beautiful...but she had a hard past, one you could scarcely imagine." The old man sighed. He wished that he could tell Erica the secret of her past. The girl was fourteen years old, and although she had shown signs of possessing magical powers, she had no idea that she was, not unlike her mother, a witch. Oh, how he wished to tell her, but he was bound by the unbreakable charm.

Erica's wavering voice cut into his thoughts. "When do I leave for London?"

"Tomorrow," he answered without thinking. He was staring at the tombstone that had just been planted.  _Here lies Layla Cunningham Riddle. A great woman 1970-2003 May she rest in peace._


	3. Father

Lord Voldemort was not a patient man. Frowning, he paced the length of the room and stopped. His thin, snake like nostrils dilated as he sniffed. "He has returned," he hissed, and a cruel smile playing on the corners of his lipless mouth, turned on his heel and advanced toward a small rat shaking on the floor, tail twitching nervously. A second later, however, the rat was gone, and in its place was a short, fat man wearing ragged robes.

"Ah...Wormtail..." Voldemort murmured. "You have come back. I presume you have good news?"

Bowing deeply, Wormtail replied in a hoarse whisper, "She is dead, my Lord."

"Ahh...I see that our letter was too much for her...and what of the girl?"

"She is to be sent to live with her Aunt Mildred in London...there she will live a perfectly normal life..."

"We shall see...my own daughter shall not be normal. She will be my most faithful servant, my most humble follower...the one that shall help me destroy anyone who opposes me...I shall make sure of that. Make haste, Wormtail. We act tonight.

* * *

In London, Erica Riddle was standing nervously in front of a large mansion. Heart beating wildly, she knocked three times on the heavy oak door.

A few moments later, a tired looking woman with a long black dress and apron, expressionless gray eyes, and slightly graying hair answered the door.

"Yes?" she said in a hoarse voice. "Oh, you're that Erica girl. Come in."

"Er...yes...are you my Aunt Mildred?" The girl had met her aunt once before, when she was very young, but she hadn't remembered her quite this way.

"Oh, no, Miss," the woman said in her monotonous voice. "I am her maid, Olive, if you will. I shall call for Miss Mildred at once."

Aunt Mildred turned out to be the complete opposite of Olive. With sparkling blue eyes, plump, cheery face, and smiling red lips, she greeted her niece in a completely welcoming manner. "Oh, Erica dear! I was so sorry when I heard what happened to your dear mother! I loved her so dearly!"

"As...as did I," said Erica, voice wavering uncontrollably.

"There, there dear, it'll turn out alright. Just you wait and see...now, how about a cup of tea?"

* * *

That night, Erica woke up to the sound of someone moving down the hallway. The footsteps, quiet and careful, slowly made their way toward Erica's room. They stopped right in front of her door. The girl heard a low breathing sound, and her heart seemed to stop in fear as the handle of her door twisted...revealing a woman, tall and thin, that stood in the frame of the doorway. Erica gasped.

"I am here to take you to your father. He wishes to meet you."

"My-my father? What is this nonsense?" asked Erica, but her voice was trembling.

"Come with me." The woman walked into the room.

"Olive!" exclaimed Erica in alarm. The woman grasped her arm with unusual strength. Before Erica had time to cry out, however, the room vanished, and the girl was in complete darkness...then with a jolt, they were in a small room with nothing but an armchair and fireplace...and a picture of...of her mother...

Intrigued, and positively frightened, Erica broke free from Olive's grasp and made her way slowly across the room. As she came nearer to the armchair, it spun around, revealing the most hideous sight she had ever laid eyes on.

A tall, thin, man with with bony fingers, hands that looked like spiders...eyes deep red and face paler than a skull...he had slits for nostrils, not unlike a snake, and his lipless mouth was curled into an unpleasant smile...he was clad in black robes and held what looked like a sort of twig in his right hand.

Her heart nearly stopped as he pocketed the thing and stood up, revealing that he was nearly two times taller than her...he placed his icy cold hand on her shoulder and pulled her close.

"Ah, my daughter."


	4. The Hogwarts Express

Erica sighed as she stared blankly out of the train window, watching as the farmland flew by. The last few weeks had been very difficult and extremely confusing.

It had been extremely hard for the young girl to accept the fact that the hideous man, who had introduced himself as Timothy Riddle was actually her father, but even more so when he told her that she was really a witch and that he was the most powerful wizard in the world. Then he had told her that she was going to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that she had a job to do there.

* * *

_'There is a boy, m'dear...someone who has caused your beloved father much pain.'_

_Erica grimaced. Beloved? Trying to sound undaunted, the young girl asked, 'Oh, really? May I inquire as to who?'_

_A twisted smile forming on his thin, snakelike lips, her father replied, 'Why, his name is Harry Potter. You may hear many things about this young man whilst you are at school. He rid the world of...Lord Voldemort...and many people feel indebted to him...You will learn more of the Dark Lord at school as well. This boy, this Harry Potter...for reasons I must not discuss at the time being, he has caused me much strife. He is not as great as everyone thinks...you shall follow my directions and lure him to me throughout the school year...woo him, make him like you...then, ask him for a walk...I will tell you when the time is nigh...I will be waiting...I must...speak with him.'_

_Erica was skeptical. But his next sentence made everything change._

_'He was the one who caused your mother's death.'_

_Not knowing that it was all a lie, not knowing that her father really wasn't Timothy Riddle, but Lord Voldemort himself, Erica vowed then and there that she would find this Harry Potter..._

* * *

Erica jumped slightly as the compartment door slid open and three teenagers, her own age, she assumed, looked in curiously. "Do you mind?" asked the girl. She looked nice enough, what with her bushy brown hair and slightly large teeth. Erica smiled at her. Maybe she would make some friends while she was here. Then she remembered-she had a job to do, get revenge on Harry Potter. There would be no time for friends.

"Oh, no," she muttered, "it's fine."

The three teens entered the compartment and sat across from her. A red-head boy studied her. "I don't remember seeing you before. Are you new?"

"Oh yes," she said, staring at the third person in the trio. He had messy jet-black hair and the most stunning green eyes the young girl had ever seen. His only peculiarity was a thin, lightning shaped scar across his forehead. Erica smiled slightly; she couldn't help but think that he was cute. "I'm Erica Ri-Romaro." She quickly cut herself off and used her assumed name, for her father had said that Harry Potter might recognize her name and know who she was. The whole plan would then be down the drain, for he would assume that she was wanting to get revenge on him for killing her mother.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the bushy-headed girl said, brown eyes sparkling. "How old are you? You don't look like a first year."

"I'm sixteen. I'm starting sixth year...I just now got my powers of late."

"Fascinating," Hermione murmured.

"What?" asked Erica and the black-haired boy at the same time. Then they laughed slightly and Erica blushed.

"Well...I don't ever remember reading anything like it. Are they up to the level of a sixth year?"

"What? Oh, you mean my powers. Yes, my father has helped teach me how to use them very quickly."

"Really?" Hermione looked at her questioningly and Erica quickly changed the subject.

"And what are your names?" she asked the two boys.

"I'm Ron," said the red-head. "Ron Weasley.

"And I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Erica's stomach did a triple flip. She had found him.


	5. Plots Gone Wrong

The first thing Erica wanted to do when that boy...that scum...introduced himself was attack him. Her father, after all, had said that he was the cause of her mother's death. But then she remembered what else he had said: if she wanted to avenge her mother's death, she must get friendly with him, and then lead him to her father. She smiled slightly. He would take care of him.

She forced a pleasant smile and said, "Wow, Harry Potter. I've...I've heard a lot about you."

Harry rolled his eyes. Then he said, "You're really going to enjoy Hogwarts."

"I hope so..."

"What house do you want to be in?"

"Oh, I don't know...Gryffindor, I suppose."

Harry grinned. "My house."

They were then joined by a pair of red-head twins, who were introduced as Ron's brothers, Fred and George, and the group was soon engaged in a game of Exploding Snap. But Erica's mind kept wandering.

Harry didn't seem like the kind of person who would kill her mother, or anyone really. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe she should talk to her father about it. No. She couldn't. She dreaded meeting with her father in the forbidden forest to report her progress the next evening. For obvious reasons, she didn't like being around him. He scared her. And as much as she wanted to believe that he wasn't her father, she knew, somehow, deep down, that he was. She shuddered at the thought.

"Hey-Erica!" The girl was brought out of her reverie as Harry caught her attention. He looked at her with concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she muttered, not meeting his eyes. "I was just...thinking."

"Okay," the boy said, sounding rather skeptical. "Um..." he paused for a moment, his face turning red for unknown reasons, "...it's your turn."

Erica said, "Oh," and quickly turned her attention to the game. She couldn't let him know what was going on...she had to keep him oblivious to her plot for revenge...

* * *

"Wormtail, my servant..." Voldemort muttered, pacing the floor of the shack he was using for cover.

The small, ugly man stammered, "Y-yes, Milord?"

"My plan is going better than ever. My daughter is completely oblivious to the fact that she is leading Harry Potter right into my clutches...and that his death will not avenge my w-her mother," he quickly corrected himself, red eyes flashing, "in the slightest."

"Of course it is working," he sputtered, looking at his master at something more like fear than loyalty. "Your plots always work."

Angrily, Voldemort spun around and spat, "Do not lie to me! When I killed Lily and James, do you think my plans went well? When I lost everything I ever cared about, did they go well?" He sniffed in annoyance and said, "But no matter. That idiot of a wife is no more, thanks to the warning letter I sent her...and my daughter is unwillingly leading innocent Harry Potter into the last breath of his life..."

He laughed evilly, then turned to Wormtail. "Let us go...we have work to do."


	6. Sorry

Erica's heart raced as Hogwarts drew nearer. What if she messed up and let the whole thing slip? She'd surely be in big trouble then, considering how her father had told her how protected and loved Harry Potter was in this school.

"I can't mess up," she told herself. "I can do this."

Soon the train came to a stop and the students filed out. They then boarded carriages that were pulled by horrible looking creatures. They looked like horse skeletons and smelled of blood. Erica leaned over to Hermione, who was seated beside her, and said, "Aren't those horses just horrid?"

"Actually," said Hermione, "I can't see them."

"Neither can I," Ron put in from her other side.

"I can," said Harry quietly from beside Hermione. Erica looked up in surprise.

"Can you?" she said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. If she was to do this right, she couldn't let on that she knew anything about Harry's part in his mother's death. Then, out of curiosity, she asked, "Why can you guys not see them when we can?"

Hermione hesitated, then said, "They are only visible to people who have seen someone die."

Erica went silent, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She missed her mother so much. Her life was perfect until her mother's death. Nothing was confusing then. She blinked back her tears, however, and turned to Harry. "Who did you see die?"

"A...schoolmate," Harry said. "Cedric Digory. He was in Hufflepuff...I didn't know him too well..." He cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable. Erica shook herself angrily when she felt herself feeling a bit sorry for the boy. He, on his part, hadn't felt sorry when he caused her mother's death. "And...my godfather." His voice cracked slightly, barely noticeable, but Erica caught it, although nobody else seemed to.

"I'm sorry."

Harry managed a smile. "And you?"

Me what?

"Who did you lose?"

Erica was startled. Why was he acting as if he didn't know? "Of course, he doesn't want to be caught," she chided herself. Holding in her feelings, she said, "My mother."

"I'm sorry." Erica looked at him carefully as he continued. "I know how you feel...I lost my parents when I was very young." The girl studied him intently. He really seemed sincere. Although...her father had warned her that he was a very good actor...

* * *

That night, the sorting took place, and, just like she wanted, Erica got put into Gryffindor. She smiled. Things were working out perfectly.

The next night, she took the invisibility cloak her father had loaned her and snuck out of the common room. It was time to meet her father...


	7. A Midnight Stroll

Erica's heart raced as Hogwarts drew nearer. What if she messed up and let the whole thing slip? Erica shivered and pulled the invisibility cloak tighter around her shoulders as she slipped out of the castle. She glanced around cautiously; looking for any sign of danger. 'It's alright,' she told herself. 'I'm fine. Nobody...or nothing...can see me.' But she wasn't sure if she believed it herself.

Heart pounding, the girl hurried across the school grounds, heading for the designated meeting place: the Forbidden Forest. As she made her way to the foreboding wood, she mused over her discussion with Harry Potter. He seemed so nice, so friendly...it was hard for her to believe that he was responsible for her mother's death.

Erica hesitated as she reached the edge of the forest. She heard a soft voice from somewhere within the trees hiss, "Come, my daughter."

Erica took a deep breath and slipped into the trees. She shuddered at her father's tall, skeletal form. He was so scary...

Shrugging the cloak off her shoulders, Erica approached her father. "Hello, Father."

"Erica." The girl winced. You could hardly call his tone affectionate. "Have you met the wretch?"

"Erm...yes, if it is Harry Potter you're speaking of," Erica replied nervously.

"Of course it is!" Voldemort hissed. "Do you see how horrible he is?"

"Actually," said Erica, hoping she wouldn't regret her next comment, "he seemed rather...nice."

"Nice?" Voldemort practically roared. "He killed your mother!"

"But how?" Erica retorted. "You haven't told me anything."

"Haven't told you anything?" Voldemort scoffed. "I took you in. I told you about your powers. And about the boy that murdered your dear mother."

Erica's eyes filled with tears. "But how do I know you're telling the truth?"

She gasped when Voldemort pulled out his wand and aimed it directly at her heart. "Erica, m'dear," he said, red eyes gleaming angrily, "I am your father. Do not contradict me, or you may lead me to do something that I shall greatly regret."

"Please, no," Erica whispered.

"Erica, I love you," Voldemort said, with such malice in his voice, Erica knew that he didn't love her; she wondered if he was even capable of loving anybody or anything. "But you have to get your priorities straight. Listen to me. You want to avenge your mother's death, do you not?"

Despite the nagging feeling in her heart, telling her something just wasn't right, Erica nodded.

"Good. Then do as I say. Spend more time with Potter. Become his friend. Make him learn to trust you. And, when I say so, lead him to me."

"Maybe...maybe this isn't such a good idea," Erica muttered.

"Shut up!" Voldemort hissed. "And do not breathe a word of this meeting or of your relation to me to anyone-or your life will be forfeit!"

* * *

Harry tossed and turned. He just couldn't get to sleep. Finally, he decided enough was enough and that he would go down to the common room and read his new Quidditch book for a while.

'Or maybe my Potions book,' he thought, trudging silently down the stairs that led to the common room, 'for that would put me to sleep for sure.'

But he had barely gotten down the stairs when the entrance way opened and Erica stepped in from the outside hallway.

"Erica?" Harry said in surprise. "What are you doing?"


	8. Second Thoughts

"Erica?" Harry said. The girl jumped. "What are you doing here? I mean, out there? What were you up to?"

"I...erm..."

"Erica? What?" Harry whispered, taking her arm gently and leading her to the nearest seat. They both sat. "What is it? You can trust me."

_'Oh, sure,' Erica thought sarcastically, but all the same, she couldn't help but feel like she was doing something wrong; her "chat" with her father had only strengthened her suspicions. But she had decided that he was probably overcome with grief-and grief could make a person do crazy things. So she stuck to the plan. For now._

However, she was at a loss of what to say. There was no way she could just step up and tell this boy, this Harry, that she had been out in the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night talking to her father about his doom.  _'No, completely out of the question,'_ the girl decided. But still, her words touched her. He really sounded sincere.

"Erica, are you okay? What were you up to?" Harry persisted. He was still holding her arm. She shook free and stood up.

"Well, you know, I was...just...exploring," she improvised.

"Exploring? Couldn't you do that in the daytime?"

"Well...yeah...but maybe there's more to be found at night, have you ever considered that, Harry?"

He laughed slightly, remembering his first year, and the Mirror of Erised. "Yes, actually I have. As a matter of fact..." he broke off, grinning. He sat down on the sofa and Erica followed the suit.

"As a matter of fact what?"

"I've done a lot of 'night traveling' if you would call it that."

"Oh...so you're not going to...you know...tell on me?"

"Get real, Erica. I wouldn't do that."

"Then why were you asking me all those questions?" Erica asked, suddenly suspicious.

He shrugged. "I don't know...I guess...I was just a little worried, that's all."

"Worried?"

"Well...yes. Hogwarts can be dangerous. Trust me, I know."

"Ah. But don't worry. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." She smiled inwardly. The plan was working. Harry really seemed to like her. And that's what she needed, if her father's plot was to work. But still, doubts and troubles still brewed around in her mind.

She pushed all fears out of her mind and said, as off-hand as possible, "So...what were you doing?"

"Oh, me?"

"No, the invisible person next to you."

Harry laughed. "You know, in this school, anything's possible. Even that."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

"So...?"

"So...what?"

"What were you doing?"

"Who me?"

Erica punched him lightly on the arm. "Please," she said, "let's not go through this again."

Still grinning, Harry said, "Okay, truth is...I couldn't sleep."

"Why not?"

"My scar?"

"Your...scar?"

"Yeah. The one...Voldemort...gave me...that night..." He broke off, no longer smiling.

Erica frowned. Her father had told her about his scar...and this Lord Voldemort, who supposedly had killed Harry's parents at a young age, although he had been very vague on the details. He had also mentioned that it was, perhaps, this grief that caused him to become a murderer. After all, grief can make a person do crazy things. She had not a clue, of course, that she was really being scammed and that Voldemort was really her own father. He had left out that little detail.

"Oh," Erica said after a long silence. "I'm...sorry. You know, I'm kind of new to this magic thing. So I don't know a lot about you, except that you're famous. But what happened that night? How did your parents...?" She couldn't bring herself to finish.

Tears threatening to come, Harry choked out, "M-murdered. By Voldemort."

"Who exactly is he?"

"The most evil being on the earth."

"Oh. Wow. That really explains a lot."

Harry stared at her with pain-glazed eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Actually, I know how you feel. I lost my mom not too long ago."

"Oh?" Harry said, staring at her sympathetically. "How?"

Tears beginning to pour down her cheeks, the girl sobbed, "I don't know, Harry, I don't know. One day she was fine, and the next..." It was so hard not to say,  _'I don't know, but I bet you do! Murderer!'_ She refrained, however.

Harry, unsure of what to do at a time like this, did the only thing he could think of: pull her into a reassuring hug. "I'm sorry," he said. "You really loved her, huh?" The tears kept coming as she started in surprise. Why was he doing this? He was the murderer...or was he?

More confused and distraught than ever, Erica broke free from Harry and raced away, up the stairs of the girl's dormitory, and flopped down on her bed, sobbing.

Meanwhile, Harry sat stunned in the common room, totally bewildered.


	9. Discussions at Breakfast

"What's up with you and Erica?" Ron asked Harry at breakfast the next morning.

Harry looked up distractedly from his toast. "What?" he said, completely oblivious as to what was going on around him.

"Is your toast really that entertaining?" Ron muttered doubtfully.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I was...erm...thinking. Now, what were you saying?"

"You and Erica," Hermione put in, not even bothering to look up from her book.

"Me...and Erica?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "I heard you guys down there talking last night."

"Oh, you heard?" Harry said, face turning red.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

"Ah. So, what's up with you two?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Oh, come off it, Harry. I couldn't exactly make out what you were saying from our dormitory, but you talked for quite a while."

"Oh, yeah, it was loads of fun," Harry said sarcastically. "Until she ran off for no reason whatsoever."

"What?" Hermione finally looked up from her book. "Why?"

Harry stared at her, unbelieving. "Hermione, I just said she stalked off for  _no reason what-so-ever_."

"Oh, come on, Harry. There had to be a reason. What happened right before she ran off?"

"Well..." Harry hesitated, suddenly embarrassed.

"Well, what?" Ron urged.

"She was upset about her mum's death. I mean, she was crying and everything. So I hugged her."

"Ohhhh..." Ron breathed.

"Well, there you go," Hermione said, slamming her book shut.

"What do you mean, there I go?" Harry inquired, looking at Hermione in bewilderment.

"She left because you hugged her."

"Ohhhh..." Ron breathed, "this just gets better and better."

Harry's face turned a more brilliant shade of crimson. "Come off it, Hermione. It was a hug. A  _friendly_ hug. You know, between  _friends_."

"Maybe so," Hermione said, "but the reason behind her sudden departure is probably that she is confused. And depressed. And doesn't know which way to turn. Think about it. She grew up so close to her mother. Then she lost her so suddenly. Then she finds out she is a witch. After that, she meets some guy-"

"Hey-" Harry began to protest at being called "some guy", but stopped when Hermione completely ignored him and went on, unphased.

"-who shows signs of affection-"

"I didn't-"

"-come on, wouldn't you be confused as well?"

There was a moment of silence, then all three got up.

"All I know is," Harry said, "you're confusing me right here, right now."

Ron snickered as Hermione tossed her bushy brown hair and rolled her eyes. "Boys. Honestly."

"C'mon, guys," she said, "we'll be late for our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

"Oh goody," said Ron.

"I wonder who the new teacher is," Harry put in thoughtfully. "And I wonder where Erica is-I haven't seen her all morning."

As if on cue, at that very moment, Erica brushed by, face an unreal shade of pink, and muttered, "G'morning, Harry." Then she rushed off.

Shaking his head in confusion, Harry left the dining hall and joined Ron and Hermione on their trek to Defense Against the Dark Arts.


	10. Professor Twitty-Twitch

"So...what d'ya think the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be like?" Ron asked Harry eagerly as they sat side by side in the classroom, waiting for their professor to enter the room.

"I hope he's like Lupin," Harry answered, still looking distracted, perhaps from his experience with Erica.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked, quirking an eyebrow. "You don't seem like yourself."

"I'm fine, really." He frowned. "Have you seen Erica?"

"She had this class with us...I don't know where she is. Is she skipping?"

"Surely she's not that upset," Harry muttered, more to himself than anybody else. "All I did was hug her. But she did seem kinda off this morning."

"Harry, don't worry," Hermione insisted. "She probably got lost. Remember how long it took us-well, you two, really-to find our classes our first year here?"

Before Harry could answer, the door opened, and Erica walked in, her eyes red and puffy, as if she had been crying. She walked straight past Harry and took a seat in the back of the room. The latter was about to get up and see if she was okay, when the new teacher came in.

He was short and squat, with a shiny bald head, small beady eyes, and an odd smile. He wore gray wizard's robes, and bustled into the room like a rush of wind.

"Hello, class," he said, in a voice that squeaked like a teenage boy's. "I am Professor Twitty-Twitch."

There was a chorus of hushed giggles and snickers, and the teacher's head snapped up. "Oh, you think that's funny, do you? See if you find this so hilarious." He drew himself up to his full height (which wasn't very tall) and scowled at them. The scowl then melted into a joking grin. "My first name is Chives Staples Marvin Jacob Daniels."

The class burst out laughing, and Twitty-Twitch smiled. "However, Chives Staples Marvin Jacob Daniels Twitty-Twitch isn't acceptable for you to call me, and Professor Twitty-Twitch sounds absolutely ridiculous, and you cannot call me Professor Twitch, because that is absurd. I know this is against school policy, but I want you to call me Mr. Twitch."

Murmurs broke out among the class. Harry and Ron glanced at each other. Never had they have a teacher her let students call them "Mr." It was always "Professor".

The rest of the class was very entertaining, and Mr. Twitch was instantly the favorite at Hogwarts.

After everyone had left, Erica came up to his desk. Mr. Twitch frowned. "Erica. How are you?"

"Fine."

"Did you check in with your father last night?"

"Yes."

"The plan is still on?"

"Of course."

"Good. I will be glad when all of this pretending is over. I hate being a good teacher...I will be glad when I can go back to my job as a cold blooded killer for Lord Voldemort, instead of babysitting you. Now leave, and I will see you later."

An evil smile spread on his face as he gathered his papers and left the room.


	11. I Love Him, I Love Him Not

Harry waited for Erica until quite late that night, but she didn't come. As he paced back and forth in the common room, he felt an uneasy feeling take over him, as if someone was watching him. He glanced around, but saw no one. It was one o'clock. He shivered. The fire was dying down, and he was cold. Oh, well. He wanted to talk to Erica tonight.

Maybe, he told himself, thirty minutes later, as he sat in a plush maroon chair, about to nod off, she had come up right after classes, and was already asleep in her dorm.

He looked behind him, to the common room entrance. Now he really felt like someone was there. But he saw no one.

* * *

Erica stood right inside the common room entrance, watching Harry intently. She had just come back from a visit with her father, and was using a gift he had given her at one point—something from the depths of his heart, he had told her. But now she was beginning to wonder if he had a heart at all.

At any case, she was hiding under her new indivisibility cloak, which hid her from Harry's eyes. She was supposed to be using the cloak to sneak around Hogwarts if needed, and to get to her meetings with her father, and possibly spy on Harry. She told herself that was what she was doing now—but she wasn't too sure. Instead of watching him for suspicious activity, she was watching him because she wanted to.

She watched as he paced to and fro, looking slightly disturbed. A few times, he looked right in her direction, and she was afraid that he could see right through the cloak, but then he turned away.

She didn't want him to turn away. She liked to look at him. He had a nice face. And those eyes…

She sighed inwardly, then caught herself. What was she doing? This guy was the enemy, he was evil, he had killed her mother—the only person who had ever loved her. Or had he? She was doubting, more than ever, the truth of her father's words. Her long conversation with Harry the night before slipped back into her mind, and she recalled the sympathy in his voice, the pain as he told about his parents' deaths, and—she felt like she was melting—the compassion as he had taken her into a warm, friendly embrace.

She felt foolish, and guilty, for running off like that, but…she didn't know what else she could have done. She was so confused. Despite how much she wanted to loathe him, all of her being loved him, loved everything about him. She wanted to hug him, to continue their embrace, she wanted him to know that she wanted to be with him forever…

She shook her head. She couldn't think like that. He was evil. Her inward battle continued as she watched Harry begin to fall asleep, then jerk awake. He looked at his watch, and Erica did the same. Two-thirty.

Harry stood up, stretched, and walked towards the boys' dorm, frowning. "Guess Erica's already in bed," he mumbled blearily to himself, and walked up the stairs.

Erica froze. That's why he had been in the common room for so long? That's why he was staying up way later that he wanted? To see her?

She felt sick. Harry was so nice, so sweet to her, and she had been helping her father plot something evil against him.

"He killed your beloved mother…"

Her father's words echoed in her mind, and she paused. Could it really be true? Then, she remembered the malice that radiated with her alleged father's every word, the hate and bitterness. Somehow she knew it wasn't from pain of her mother's death. She had finally come to a conclusion, and she knew, deep in her heart, that it was the right one: her father was acting on his own greedy and personal whims. He was after Harry, but not because he had murdered her mother.

She sighed as she slipped the cloak off from around her shoulders.

"Erica? When did you get here?" She jumped as she saw Harry coming down the stairs from the boys' dormitory.

"I, uh…" he stumbled frantically for an answer, then fired back, "What about you?"

"Me? I left my Quidditch book here." He gestured to a book lying on the chair, with a picture of Quidditch players moving about on it. "Now, what about you?"

Erica sighed. It was time to tell Harry everything.

 


	12. Lost Love, Lost Friendship

"Erica? Are you okay?"

Erica sighed. She had been sitting in that same spot for ten minutes, not moving, not speaking. She hadn't wanted to do it; she really did not want to tell Harry what was going on…but now…

It was now or never. Erica had been sure she could do it. She had told Harry, "Harry…there's something…something I need to tell you."

Now, however, she didn't know if she could go through with it. How exactly, she wondered, does one go about telling the one they love that they are trying to get them killed? It wasn't going to be easy.

It was now or never…

"Harry…I…I…"

"What, Erica? What's wrong?"

"Well, you see, it's just that…"

Harry looked deep into her eyes. She wanted to look away, but couldn't. She studied his as well, and saw compassion, longing, and…dare she say it? Trust. She couldn't believe it; she almost didn't want to believe it. But it was there.

_He trusted her._

And she hated it. She didn't want him to trust her. She wanted him to hate her; to hate her with all of his being for what she was trying to do to him. She wanted him to despise her for her actions, and to yell, scream, and, well,  _loathe_ her.

She was kidding herself. She didn't want him to hate her, she wanted him to love her. And she didn't yearn to be despised, on the contrary, she wanted to be loved. She wanted him to hold her forever. But it could never happen. None of this could ever happen.

Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. She didn't want to do it. In fact, she would rather do anything but this. Besides face her father's wrath. And that was why she was choosing this path. Perhaps if she did this, they would both be safe. Or not. But, as painful as it may be for her, it had to be done.

"Harry," she said, tears forming in her eyes, "I can't see you anymore. I can't talk to you, and I can't be around you. We can't be friends anymore. I'm sorry."


	13. A Chat with the Professor

It had been a week since Erica had told Harry she couldn't be his friend anymore, and already, life at Hogwarts began to slide dramatically downhill—not just for Harry, but for Erica as well. It didn't help matters, Erica reasoned, that they days had grown almost unbearably cold and dreary, and that the sky was a constant, repulsive shade of gray. Perhaps it was the foul weather that was making everything seem so bad. But she knew it wasn't.

She knew it was the guilt gnawing at her heart, and the pain of having let Harry go. But she hadn't. Not really. She still cared for him, but she couldn't see how he could even stand to look at her after what she'd done to him. He had been unusually quiet and cranky since that unfortunate night, and although he didn't act angry with her, he didn't acknowledge her existence either.

She wished they could be together, with all of her heart. Maybe, someday, she would find a way out of this. Possibly, they could still be friends again. The only problem was, would he be able to find it in his heart to forgive her?

Harry didn't understand, even after a week of trying to figure out what possible motive Erica would have for deserting him. His desperate mind had come up with some quite crazy ideas: she had found out about his previous crush on Cho, and had gotten angry with him, but this was rather preposterous—they were only friends, and Erica didn't seem the jealous type. Also, there was his rash assumption that Malfoy had seen how much they liked each other, and had put some sort of curse on Erica to make her turn against Harry, but this too seemed like a very unlikely explanation.

Finally, he just had to admit to himself that he had no idea what had caused Erica to behave like this. He hadn't talked to her about it; he had decided that it was best to let her cool off some before approaching her about it.

Erica stood nervously outside of Professor Twitty-Twitch's office, trying to forget about the anger in his voice when he had met her in the hallway and demanded that she meet him in his office as soon as possible. Her stomach was churning unpleasantly, and she knew what this must be about: her ignorance of Harry.

"Come in."

Erica took a step forward, hesitated, then pushed the door open. "Hello, Professor."

"Erica." Twitty-Twitch's face was pinched with controlled anger, and his hands, although twitching in a most undignified manner, were folded tightly and pressed against his desk. "Sit."

"Of course, Professor."

"It has come to my attention that you have not been doing the duty your father has asked of you."

"Professor, I have!"

Twitty-Twitch raised an unconvinced eyebrow. "You have, have you? Tell me, Erica. What exactly did your father request that you do?"

Erica felt tears prick the corner of her eyes, and she struggled to keep her voice steady. "He wanted me to be-befriend Harry Potter. T-to lure him into a false sense of security. And lead Harry to him so Father can get his—his revenge."

"Too true. At first, I was very impressed. I was able to send positive reports to your father. But now…Erica, it seems that you are not speaking to Harry anymore. I mentioned this to your father last night in the Forbidden Forest, and he was very displeased."

A deep fear rooted its way into Erica's heart. "What did he say?" she all but whispered.

"He told me to relay to you this message: 'You are to bring Harry into the Forbidden Forest tonight, or your life will be forfeit.'"


	14. An Unexpected Sacrifice

"Harry." Harry glanced at Erica coolly, a deep, searing pain piercing his heart.

"What is it, Erica?" he asked as he crossed the common room, wanting to get through the portrait hole and out onto the Quidditch field so he could burn off some of his negative energy by flying.

Erica's voice was laced with sobs as she fought to control her emotions. "Harry…I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, aghast at what she was about to do.

Harry turned, his green eyes filled with pain, regret, curiosity, and—most surprising to Erica—hope.  _He still likes me,_ Erica realized, feeling warm liquid sting the corners of her eyes and slowly drip down her cheek.  _And I'm about to turn him in to my father to save my own skin. What a horrible person I am!_

Harry looked concerned as he questioned, "Erica, what is it? What's wrong?"

Erica shook her head, wiping the tears away with a quick swipe of the back of her hand. "Nothing. It's just—I feel so bad for treating you the way I did. I had no right to desert you; I was just—I was just scared." That part was true, at least.

Harry looked at her uneasily, unsure of what to say. "Scared? Of what?" he finally got out.

"Of…of being your friend." Erica struggled in a senseless battle to restore dominion over her emotions. It was going to be so difficult to lie to Harry again, and this time, it wasn't to save him, but to save herself.

Harry gaped at her, not comprehending the message she was trying so desperately to relay. "What?"

"Oh, Harry, I have—have heard so much about you're a-adventures. You've done some pr-pretty amazing stuff, and yo-you have a lot of enemies, the w-worst being the most dangerous wizard in the world. I was afraid that m-my life would be in danger if I—if I was your fr-friend. But now I know I was wrong. C-can you ever forgive me?"

Harry smiled, relieved. Erica hadn't been jealous or mad at him. She had merely been frightened. She still liked him!

"I really like you, Harry," Erica mumbled truthfully. "And I'm sorry—sorry for everything."

"It's okay," Harry said eagerly. "There's nothing to forgive."

Erica grimaced at his words.  _Nothing to forgive—yet._

"Um, Harry, you wouldn't like to go for a walk, would you?" Erica asked, guilt dragging her heart down to her feet. Part of her wished desperately that he would readily agree and she could get this over with as soon as possible. But the other part—the more dominant part—hoped that he would turn her down. But of course, he consented.

"Of course, Erica. Just let me grab my cloak."

"It's nice out here this evening."

"Mmmm…"

"The forest barely looks threatening at all."

"Mmmm…"

"Erica?"

"Mmmm?"

"Why did you ask me to come out here with me if all you are going to say is 'mmmm'?"

Erica smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Harry. My mind wasn't focusing. What were you saying?"

"Oh, nothing really. I just think it was a good idea to take a walk out by the Forbidden Forest."

"Right."

"Erica…"

"What?"

Harry stepped closer. Erica couldn't breathe. He was close enough that he could see every pore on his face, every individual eyelash, and every bit of longing in his eyes…

His lips met hers, and they shared a cosmic moment. But Erica broke away, tears streaming down her face.

"Erica, what's wrong?" Harry asked. Mentally, he wondered why he could never seem to kiss a girl without her winding up crying.  _Maybe Ron was right,_ he thought, horrified,  _maybe I am a bad kisser. That's what he said when Cho wound up blubbering all over me. Of course, Hermione said she was confused, but honestly, what's so confusing about a kiss?_

Erica backed away. "Harry, you have to leave. Now."

"What? Why?"

Before Erica could answer, a there was a flash of light, and thick vines shot out of the forest, winding themselves around Harry and covering his mouth. Taken by complete surprise, Harry struggled and tried to yell for help, but it was no use. He was dragged into the forest. Erica ran in after him.

After the vines had yanked Harry through the dirt of the forest floor for over a mile, with Erica panting and running along behind, it stopped. Harry, who was nearing unconsciousness, having hit his head many times on oncoming rocks and stumps, lay there, dazed, while a thin, pale man stepped out from the shadows. Harry tensed, and, as if from a distance, heard Voldemort say, "Well done, my daughter. You have successfully delivered Harry Potter to me, Lord Voldemort."

Erica took a step back, horrified. "You? You're Voldemort?"

"Surprised, dear?"

"You despicable liar!" Erica spat, enraged.

"Thank you for your generous compliments," Voldemort hissed smoothly.

He waved his wand, and the vine covering Harry's mouth fell away, as did the ones holding him prisoner. Harry stood up on wobbly feet, terrified, but had eyes only for Erica.

"I can't believe you did this to me, Erica!"

Erica lowered her head. Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's heart. "Time to die, Potter. You can't escape me now."

"I loved you, Erica."

Erica's eyes opened wide, and she gaped at Harry. He loved her? Oh, how she loved him too! But now, as she looked from her father to her true love, she knew she had made the biggest mistake of her life. "I'm sorry, Harry. I loved you, too."

Voldemort looked revolted. "I cannot stand so much  _love_ ," he spat, saying the word as if it was poison. "Time to die, Harry, after all these years." Harry reached for his wand, but he wasn't fast enough. Voldemort hissed, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " and a flash of green light surged through the air, hurtling towards Harry's heart.

Harry couldn't dodge it in time; this time it really was the end…

But then, Erica raced forward, her eyes screwed up in determination, and planted herself between Harry and the killing curse.

Harry watched with growing horror as Erica was struck squarely in the chest, and collapsed to the ground, dead.


	15. Priori Incantatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck with me this far, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment or take a second to click the little Kudos button! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!

Harry gaped, dumbfounded, at the lifeless body of Erica Riddle. His body was numb with shock, his hands shaking, and his knees weak. He knelt down, disbelief tearing at his heart, pain beyond all other ripping at his soul. Her reached out hesitantly, and tenderly touched her cheek—but instantly drew his hand back; her skin was ice. "No…" he moaned to no one in particular.

He heard a mocking chuckle from somewhere behind him. "Ah…poor, dear girl," came Voldemort's mocking jeer. "Who knew she was capable of making such a foolish mistake?"

Harry stood up and whirled around, his eyes blazing in fury. "What she did wasn't foolish!" he roared, a hot moisture pricking at the corners of his eyes. "It was the bravest thing that anyone has ever done for me. It showed what a pure, wonderful person she was. It—it was a sacrifice…of love."

Voldemort smirked, taking a step closer to his adversary. "Oh, yes," he mocked, "what a  _selfless_ thing to do. Giving up her life for you, when I am just going to kill you afterward."

Harry reached into his cloak, pulled out his wand, and shoved it a Voldemort. "No," he hissed passionately, refusing to back down. "No! Erica's death will NOT be in vain!"

Voldemort chortled maliciously. "Harry, Harry, Harry," he crooned in a menacingly complacent voice. "Have you not learned? I, Lord Voldemort, am much stronger than you. The only explanation for your surviving my wrath for so long is luck, and the ridiculous protection that old fool Dumbledore has hovering over you. Now, out here in the desolate Forbidden Forest, you are completely at my mercy."

"Not quite."

Voldemort's red eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed in anger. Harry spun around to see two figures hurrying toward the enemies through the growing mist.

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry breathed, terrified. They couldn't have known what great danger they were in. Harry couldn't lose anyone else that he cared about. "No! Go back!"

"Not a chance," Ron said bravely, but Harry could sense the fear in his voice.

Harry heard a gasp of horror and turned to see Hermione staring transfixed at Erica's lifeless body. Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed angrily. "Enough," he hissed. "Foolish children, you have sealed your own fate."

"Ron, Hermione, please!" Harry pleaded solemnly. "Just go!"

"No, Harry," Hermione sobbed. "We're staying right here, by your side."

Voldemort raised his wand, pointing it at Harry. "This time, you die," he hissed. " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The green light came at lightning speed, but this time, Harry was ready for it. " _Impedimenta!_ " he screamed, and his bolt of red light met Voldemort's green light. The two wands instantly connected with a string of golden light.  _Priori Incantatum,_ Harry knew. It had occurred once before, in a deserted graveyard the night Voldemort had returned.

Harry knew what he had to do instantly. The small bead of light in the middle of the golden string needed to be forced to the tip of Voldemort's wand—or, better yet—

"Harry, break the connection!" Hermione screamed. Her voice seemed to come from a distance, and Harry realized that he and Voldemort were being lifted off the ground by an invisible force. "Break the connection! This is  _Priori Incantatum!_ "

Harry knew he should do as Hermione had told him, but he couldn't bring himself to actually break it. He knew that if he connected Voldemort's wand with the bead of light, the latter's wand would be forced to recount the last spells in performed in reverse order, and from his previous experience, he remembered that the people Voldemort had murdered would come back as shadows. Mere shadows, but at least he would get to see Erica again, one last time.

Below him, his best friends were shouting for him to stop, to break the connection so he could escape faster, but this time, Harry didn't want to escape. He wanted to fight. To win, to get revenge for his godfather's death, Cedric Digory's death, Erica's death, his father and mother's…his  _mother_. Harry was struck with a strange notion, as he realized something spectacular about Erica's sacrifice. He only hoped his assumption was correct.

He heard a growl of anger, and saw with triumph that the light had connected with Voldemort's, and a slim shadow slid out of the tip of his wand. Erica.

"Harry," she said in an eerily hollow voice. "I can linger only for a moment after you break the connection."

"I know," Harry choked out. "I know why you did it, too. Erica, you shouldn't have."

"Harry, listen to me, for I have but a few minutes with you. I died for you because I loved you. But all is not lost. We may be together yet."

"Wha—what do you mean?" Harry breathed; blissfully unaware of everyone save for the girl he loved.

"There is no time to explain now, Harry. Time is running short. But you must ask Dumbledore about  _Insamï Resuea._ "

"What?"

Voldemort fumed and turned to the shadow of his once-living daughter. "You are a fool, girl!" he spat. " _Insamï Resuea_ has been done only once, and certainly cannot be performed when both lovers are dead." He glanced at Harry and laughed evilly. "Where did you learn such foolishness?"

Erica's shadow smiled knowingly. "From my mother. Before she died. I didn't understand it then, but I do now." She cast a wistful glance at Harry before yelling, "Harry,  _NOW_! Break the connection!"

Harry hated to do it, but resigned anyway, crying, "Good-bye, Erica. I love you."

As he began to fall after the connection was severed, and Erica's form slowly dissolved, he heard her voice say soothingly, "We will be together again, Harry…just remember… _Insamï Resuea…_ "

Harry hit the ground, rolled over, and was met by Ron and Hermione.

"Harry! Are you okay?"

Harry didn't respond, but scrambled for his wand, which had rolled several feet away. As his fingers brushed the smooth wood, he felt an excruciating pain in his scar—and his hand.

A foot rested on is hand. Harry's eyes traveled up a tall skeletal body standing over him, robed in ebony. An angry face, paler than a skull, glared down at him.

Voldemort stunned Ron and Hermione with one swift spell—they had been running to assist. "I let them live," Voldemort said harshly, "so I can use them later. An imperious curse on a couple of bumbling students would be an exhilarating way to take over Hogwarts…

"But for now, it is time for you to die. No more games, Harry Potter.  _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was nothing Harry could do to prevent it. The curse hit him squarely in the chest…and rebounded up onto Voldemort.

The dark lord let out an agonized scream. "No! Not again!" he ranted, and Harry witnessed something that he had heard about for many years…something he himself had witnessed once when he was but a year old…

It was as if Voldemort's flesh was being torn off his bones by an invisible predator. His body disintegrated into oblivion, leaving behind only a shadow of his former self—what looked like a cloud of darkness. With a moan of pain, the horrifying vision disappeared into the depths of the forest.

Harry stumbled to his feet, shaking in fatigue, relief, pain, and grief.

" _Enervate,_ " he mumbled, pointing his wand at his best friends.

"Harry! What happened?" Hermione demanded, getting to her feet. "What happened to Voldemort?"

"He's gone," Harry answered dully.

"What?" Ron gasped, amazed. "How?"

"Love. It took me a while to figure it out, but now I get it. When Erica gave her life for me, it was the same kind of sacrifice my mum made. A sacrifice of love. I can't believe Voldemort overlooked it again. He tried to kill me, and because of Erica's sacrifice, he was stripped from his body again."

"So…he's dead?" Ron asked hopefully.

To the latter's dismay, Harry shook his head. "No. I don't think so. I think, like before, he's still alive, if barely. But let's hope a faithful servant won't come to help him this time. And let's hope we can destroy him before he comes back to power. But how did you find me?"

Ron smiled. "We overheard Twitty-Twitch talking to Erica earlier. We found out that You-Know-Who is—was—her father. We tried to find you, but you were already heading to the forest with Erica, so we followed you."

"We're glad we found you," Hermione added. "Are you okay?"

Harry glanced at Erica's body, tears flowing freely. "No," he said. "Not at all." He cleared his throat, and turned toward the castle. "Let's go home."

**THE END**


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